


daisy boy

by halcyonskies



Series: 100Themes: Dean/Cas [66]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bullied Castiel, Gen, Hurt Castiel, Kid Fic, Slurs, Witch Castiel, witches are known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 14:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5130878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyonskies/pseuds/halcyonskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean won't even gloat about being right about this godforsaken place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	daisy boy

**Author's Note:**

> 100Themes Challenge - #57: Rock
> 
> props to anyone who gets the christmas story reference :)

Upon seeing the group of kids gathered around up ahead, Dean wasn’t immediately curious about what it was all about. As far as he was concerned, this place was awful, and everyone who lived here had to be at least a little awful by extent. Though, to be fair, he hadn’t exactly gone out and looked for anyone that might have proved him wrong. He was still angry at his parents for moving him and Sammy here in the first place.

As soon as he saw the rocks flying, however, all bets were off.

“Hey!” he crowed, rushing over. “What the hell are you _doing?”_ At thirteen years old he’d been given a little leeway in the cussing department, at least by his father – words like _hell_ and _damn_ were fine, and he could get away with _shit_ about half the time. But the way some of the kids looked at him – _scandalized,_ like he’d said something as vulgar as _fuck_ or something – made him wonder whether this was one of _those_ small towns.

“New kid!” one of the kids called over – the oldest by the look of him, probably around eleven or twelve – and as Dean hurried closer he could see that the boy had _yellow eyes._

_So help me God, yellow eyes,_ he thought, half in amusement and half in horrified fascination.

“Hey, you wanna peg the little freak too?”

And now Dean could see everything, the whole disgusting picture spread out before him now that he was right in the thick of it. A boy – shit, he didn’t look much older than _Sammy_ – was sitting a few dozen feet away, hunched on the ground, arms thrown over his head. There were stones and rocks and pebbles lying everywhere, and it didn’t take a genius to see that these were the rocks he’d seen flying through the air, and that the boy was their target.

All the kids were staring at him, each of them with a small collection of stones in their hands, scrutinizing him like they were just waiting to see what he’d do, so they’d know how to treat him after he did it. Well, Dean had never been too great with tests, and he probably wasn’t about to pass this one either.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Dean got right in Yellow-Eyes' face, relishing how the boy shrunk warily away from him. “And I think you should leave him alone, too.”

“You can’t tell us what to do!” one of the girls in the group said petulantly, though her scowl melted into a more fearful expression when Dean turned to her next. Dad said it was never right to hit girls, and Dean probably wouldn’t if it came down to it, but Mom always said anyone who was trying to hurt you or someone else was fair game.

“Fine!” the yellow-eyed boy eventually snapped, tossing all his rocks onto the ground. “Go hang out with your faggy friend, then!”

Now it was Dean’s turn to be scandalized as he watched them walk away. Obviously this _was_ one of those small towns, full of assholes who feared swearing because it was _bad_ and _God wouldn’t like it_ but totally okay with calling people _fags_ when they didn’t fit in just right. Jesus, that kid was already calling people _fags_ and he wasn’t even Dean’s age.

“Hey, are you okay?” Dean asked, moving towards the boy on the ground, kicking away rocks as he went.

Blue eyes peeked out at him from beneath a fringe of dark bangs. Slowly, the boy uncurled, though Dean could see he looked poised to bolt if Dean tried anything funny.

“You’re really not going to throw anything at me?”

“Dude, no. Here, you need help up?”

Dean didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed one of the boy’s arms and yanked, hauling him up to his feet. Looking him over, it didn’t seem like he’d been hit too bad. There was only a bit of blood, most injuries little more than angry red welts. His clothes were probably a lost cause, though, dirty and torn in half a dozen different places; if this kid’s mom was anything like Dean’s, she was going to be plenty pissed when he got home.

“They won’t like you now,” the boy said dejectedly, like it was his fault all the kids in this town were little asshats. “They’ll probably throw rocks at you, too.”

Dean snorted, remembering the fear he’d seen in Yellow-Eyes’ face. It wasn’t like Dean was a scary kid, either; if that guy was that much of a coward, he didn’t think he’d have too many problems. He’d have to watch out for Sammy, though; that kid was softer around the edges than Dean.

“Yeah, I’m not gonna worry about it. I’m Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester.”

“I’m . . . Castiel. You Winchesters, you just moved in, right? My mother brought you banana bread as a welcoming present.”

Dean just shrugged, not because he didn’t care but because he honestly couldn’t remember that. He’d been pretty pissed those first few days especially, and hadn’t really ventured from his room except for trips to the bathroom and kitchen.

“So, why were they throwing rocks at you? You the weird kid or something?” Dean at least had the grace to wince at his own callousness; it wasn’t that he was trying to be cruel or anything, because he didn’t care if Castiel was weird. It was just that he’d had a lot of friends back home who got picked on for the same kind of shit, singled out because they were into weird stuff or hung out in weird places.

“I suppose I am.” The boy ducked his head. A few moments passed, and then he pulled something out of the pocket of his sweater. Looking closer, Dean could see that it was a few wilty flowers; frowning, the kid touched the ripped petals. “Dean, what do you think about . . . witches?”

Dean blinked. “Witches? I never met one. Mom says we have a cousin who’s a witch, but he’s never visited or anything – wait. Dude, are _you_ a witch?”

Castiel nodded shyly. Before Dean’s eyes, the flowers – _daisies,_ Dean recalled distantly – seemed to reinvigorate, stems unbending and faces bursting with fat, unmolested petals. He knew his eyes must be bugging out of his skull; witches were far from unheard of these days, but Dean had never seen any kind of magic _in action_ before.

“They don’t like me because I can do this,” Castiel whispered, smiling down at the flowers like they were his children or something. All of a sudden, Dean’s face felt very hot.

“What, make flowers grow? They throw _rocks_ at you over a few _flowers?”_

It was Castiel’s turn to shrug. The daisies seemed to sway in his hands for a moment, and then they were gone, disappeared completely, and the look on the boy’s face was almost sad. “There are no other witches around here. I think everyone is afraid of me, of what I’ll be able to do one day.”

That was a whole _heap_ of bullshit, in Dean’s opinion. He didn’t know much about witches or their magic, but anybody with two braincells to rub together could predict that Castiel would never use his power to hurt anybody. The kid grew _flowers,_ for Christ’s sake.

“You know what? Forget them, Cas. Just ‘cause they’re all too inbred to use magic doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with _you.”_

That startled a laugh out of the other boy. “My brother Balthazar said something like that when we first got here.”

“Well, he’s right. C’mon, you wanna come over to my house and clean up a little? It’s nearby, and we can play video games after. And my mom made cookies,” he added, like he had to keep sweetening the pot in order to get Castiel to agree. But the witch was _beaming,_ not seeming at all bothered by the trickle of blood that was beginning to inch its way over his eyebrow.

“That sounds great, Dean.”

 


End file.
